in his mind.  As early as 1846, after the private reading at Lausanne, he had written to Forster:  “I was thinking the other day that in these days of lecturings and readings, a great deal of money might possibly be made (if it were not infra dig.) by one’s having readings of one’s own books.  I think it would take immensely.  What do you say?” Forster said then, and said consistently throughout, that he held the thing to be “infra dig.,” and unworthy of Dickens’ position; and in this I think one may venture to assert that Forster was wrong.  There can surely be no reason why a popular writer, who happens also to be an excellent elocutionist, should not afford general pleasure by giving sound to his prose, and a voice to his imaginary characters.  Nor is it opposed to the fitness of things that he should be paid for his skill.  If, however, one goes further in Dickens’ case, and asks whether the readings did not involve too great an expenditure of time, energy, and, as we shall see, ultimately of life, and whether he would not, in the highest sense, have been better employed over his books,—­why then the question becomes more difficult of solution.  But, after all, each man must answer such questions for himself.  Dickens may have felt, as the years began to tell, that he required the excitement of the readings for mental stimulus, and that he would not even have written as much as he did without them.  Be that as it may, the success at Birmingham, where a sum of from L400 to L500 was realized, the requests that poured in upon him to read at other places, the invariably renewed success whenever he did so, the clear evidence that a large sum was to be realized if he determined to come forward on his own account, all must have contributed to scatter Forster’s objections to the winds.  On the 29th of April, 1858, at St. Martin’s Hall, in London, he started his career as a paid public reader, and he continued to read, with shorter or longer periods of intermission, till his death.  But into the story of his professional tours it is not my intention just now to enter.  I shall only stay to say a few words about the character and quality of his readings.

That they were a success can readily be accounted for.  The mere desire to see and hear Dickens, the great Dickens, the novelist who was more than popular, who was the object of real personal affection on the part of the English-speaking race,—­this would have drawn a crowd at any time.  But Dickens was not the man to rely upon such sources of attraction, any more than an actress who is really an actress will consent to rely exclusively on her good looks.  “Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well,” such as we have seen was one of the governing principles of his life; and he read very well.  Of nervousness there was no trace in his composition.  To some one who asked him whether he ever felt any shyness as a speaker, he answered, “Not in the least; the first time I took the chair (at a public